Crush
by KissMeDeadlyT-T
Summary: Giftfic for PreventPersuadePervert. Edward always thought that he'd never fall in love, and he didn't mind, really. He thought maybe solitude would be nice. So when he realizes he's falling for the colonel, he nearly has a heart attack, and everything just goes downhill from there. -RoyEd, cussing, fluff, confusion, crushes, the whole shebang.
1. Chapter 1

**KissMeDeadlyT-T: This is a gift fic to PreventPersuadePervert for being the 100threviewer on my Flame fic. Well, technically, PreventPersuadePervert was review 101, but the actual 100th reviewer was anonymous and so I couldn't write a fic for them.**

**This was supposed to be a oneshot, but it got really long and so I decided I'm going to split it into more chapters. I don't know when the next parts will be up, but I'll try to get them done as quickly as I can.**

**I don't own FMA and the plot is based off of the request. Fluff was what was asked for but I'm a freak and always add some form of angst and confusion in there. Because I like to think that Ed would probably have an emotional breakdown if he had a crush on someone. I know I do. Can't handle that shit. Hopefully it's still fluffy enough.**

**And there is a part where Al is kind of OOC and vulgar but meh I think he needs to be a little bit more... blunt. Yeah, that.**

**Anyway, I hope you enjoy,PreventPersuadePervert! Everyone else, too!**

**xxXXxxXXxx**

Do you ever just want to stab your eyes out? Or maybe rip out your brain, because it's making you think really fucking stupid things? Or even your heart, when it starts beating like it's trying to win a damn marathon and makes you feel like you're going to pass out all because of that _one person_that you really fucking love but really fucking _don't want to_?

Yeah, me too.

I've never really had experience with things like this— like this stupid_love_ if that's what you want to call it. I was too young before _It_ happened, and now that I'm old enough to start going past the '_Ew, you have cooties!'_ phase and into the_'Holy shit fuck me sideways he's so hot and why is my heart fluttering like this and fuck off stupid butterflies in my stomach and why the hell do I just_want_him'_phase, I've been too busy trying to get Al's body back. On top of that and dealing with the Homunculi and Scar and whatnot, I didn't really think it was super fucking important to go and think about falling in love or anything.

Everyone thought I had a thing for Winry, but even though I do love her, I can't bring myself to see her as anything other than a really annoying but awesome sister. Trust me, I've tried.

Many times. With other girls, too; Sciezka, Paninya, Rose, hell, even _Hawkeye_— but I could never find one inkling of attraction in _that_ way.

In other words, I had started to believe that I was just emotionally and sexually stunted— that I'd never fall in love with anyone, never want anyone to touch me, never want to let anyone in. And I was fine with that. Really.

So the first time that I notice my heart begin racing and blood start flooding my cheeks and my palms become inexplicably sweaty while I'm having a heated argument with the stupid colonel, and he grabs my collar in anger, I (naturally) almost have a heart attack. My insult dies before it can even come into existence, and I freeze up completely, my brain only able to register stupid things like _Roy Mustang's face is less than a foot away from mine oh my fucking god_. What the hell is going on here? I don't like _Mustang,_not like _that_! Is that what this is? It is, isn't it? I may not have experienced it before but I know how it's supposed to feel! He's a jerk! I know he's doing everything he can to help Al and I get our bodies back, and it's not like I hate him—but there is _no way_ that I _like_him! He's a womanizing perverted hydrophobic pyromaniac asshole with a God complex. He is _Roy Mustang._

And everyone knows how I feel about him.

He pisses me the _fuck_ off.

He stops giving me shit about how I'd beaten up a baker (hey, he called me shortie and had it coming, fat bastard) and my lack of a properly written report for a second. He glares at me with those black eyes that were making me angry earlier, but are just freaking me out now because I can see the flecks of dark blue in them and it's making my heart feel funny. I try to look away, or put on a normal face, or at least unfreeze, but I can't even bring myself to make a sound. His lips twist into a nasty smirk, the one he wears when he thinks (or knows) he's won an argument. It makes my breath quicken, and again I try desperately to say something, but I _can't_.

I like to pretend that this is the first time this has happened— but deep down I know there's always been _something_ different about him, something that made me really uncomfortable and inexplicably emotional and shaky. Sometimes, I'd left his presence blushing furiously and my heart beating too fast, but I'd always assumed it was just because he pissed me off so bad.

Oh, fuck. He's so close. And he sort of smells nice. Oh, fuck no! I did _not_ just think that!

"What's wrong, Fullmetal? You look like you're going to cry." If he didn't sound so damned smug, I'd probably believe that he was actually concerned. "Aw, am I being too hard on you?" he coos, reaching to pat my head mockingly. "You're so_little_, maybe I should be nicer."

I snarl at his mocking tone and shove him back. "I'm not little, you bastard!"

"Well, your temper certainly is."

"Just shut up, okay? I'm not in the fucking _mood_." Oh my fuck, did my voice just tremble? Please tell me my voice didn't tremble.

I turn my back and storm towards the doors with the goal of getting the fuck out of here and maybe getting Al to punch me in the head and knock some sense into me. I have no idea what to do with this. Like I said— I've never had experience with these types of stupid, girly feelings! And towards someone like him— someone so experienced and fucking _straight_— Oh Gate this is the worst day I've had in a long time.

Yes, I may be having a mental breakdown, but can you really blame me?

I was too busy panicking and trying to flee without making it look like I was trying to flee that I didn't notice him catch up to me and grab my wrist. Automatically, I whirl and raise my hands to transmute (I wasn't sure what I was going to do, but it was just instinctual), but he grabs my other hand and stops me. My heart does another stupid jump thing like it's trying to commit suicide. I don't blame it.

"What the hell!" I blurt. Inside, I punch myself. _Wonderful_. Because that wasn't obvious that something is up at all.

"Ed, I was just teasing. Are you okay?" He actually _does_ sound concerned now. Fucking bastard. Why does he have to go and be nice all of a sudden? It's making me want to do really stupid girly things. Like let him wrap me in his arms or something. Aw, _hell_ no!

I force myself not to look up at him, because I know I'll probably continue with my emotional breakdown then and quite possibly start screaming like an escaped lunatic. My stomach feels funny and I forcefully tug my wrists out of his grip, crossing my arms and glaring at the ground. I know it's my standard pose when something is bugging me, and that now he'll definitely know something is up, if he somehow hadn't caught onto that before. I find it kind of disturbing how he knows me so well. But still, having my arms crosses and a glare on my face makes me feel more like myself, which is a relief, because I'm sort of wondering if I've been possessed by a demon or something.

"I know," I respond shortly, forcing those thoughts out of my head. "It's fine, colonel. Can I go?"

"Edward Elric, look at me."

"Fuck off."

"Don't be a brat."

I raise an eyebrow at him. "Fuck off," I repeat.

"No," he says evenly. "You look like you're going to cry."

It's his damn fault for being so— so— agh! I don't even _know._ Glaring, I look up at him with the intent of telling him to fuck off again, but the words catch in my throat and I freeze up. He's looking right at me. And he looks really worried.

A crease appears between Mustang's eyebrows when I just stare at him with wide eyes, my lips clamped together and my shoulders hiked up to my ears, and he stoops to my level. "Hey," he says, waving a hand in front of my face. "Edward?"

"Um," I manage to get out, trying to back up but really just frozen staring at him. No. I refuse to let myself think it, I won't think it— Oh my Gate he is fucking beautiful. Damn it! I said I wasn't going to let myself think it! Fuck you, brain! Just fuck you!

"Are you sick?" He slips off his glove and presses a cool palm to my forehead and I swear to whatever god there might be that I almost fall over and pass out. Thankfully, though, it manages to tear me out of whatever I am stuck in, and I jerk back, so fast he looks alarmed.

"Maybe you should see a doctor," he says slowly.

"No," I say, shaking my head and backing up, "I'm okay, Mustang, really, but uh— I just remembered, I have to meet Al at the hotel, and—yeah, I'll give you that report tomorrow, okay?"

"Wait, Fullmetal—"

"Bye!" Before he can say anything else, I turn and run out of there as fast as I can, slamming the doors shut behind me and leaning on them for a second, my heart racing and my mind whirling.

Because really.

_What the hell_?

xxXXxxXXxx

I guess Mustang must have really thought I was sick or something, because he gives me the next week off. It's not like I do anything when I'm on the clock anyway, so I don't really get why he called me into his office to tell me that I didn't have to come in this week, but whatever. At least now I have an excuse to _not_ go talk to him.

The problem is that I'm—oh Gate—starting to _miss_ him. I have this stupid nagging urge to go and see him all the time, but since I'm stubborn and I want to nip this ridiculous crush before it turns into anything else, I refuse to give in and instead avoid him like the plague.

East city is busy today, people walking down the streets in shorts and t-shirts, soaking up the rare spring sunshine and sitting at little cafés, sipping iced teas and lemonades. We haven't had a nice day like this since winter started in October, and since we have nothing on our schedule, Al and I decide to go shopping for Winry since her birthday is coming up. Secretly, I think Alphonse has a crush on her, but I never asked because he gets shy really easily and I don't really fancy the idea of him swinging his giant armor fist at me.

We've been walking around for a while now, me sipping at a smoothie and Al squealing over random stray cats, and I have to say that it's nice to just hang out— to not have to worry about anything, even for a few hours. It's been a while since we've done anything like this, so we're both in a pretty good mood considering how badly life sucks right now.

"Brother!" Al's excited voice brings me back from reality and away from daydreaming about random stuff. Not Mustang or anything. Mostly just how yummy this strawberry-banana smoothie is.

Anyway.

"Yeah?" I ask, noticing he'd stopped at a window a bit ahead of me at a store with a simple sign claiming it to be an automail shop. I head over, vaguely excited that maybe, we finally found something to get Winry that isn't another pair of earrings. Despite how much she liked the last ones, I don't think she has much room left on her ears for another pair. "What, Al?"

"Look at that! Winry would love it!"

He's pointing at something that seems to be on the top of the highest shelf, and being me, I can't see it. To avoid breaching the subject of my lack of tall-ness, I grin and say, "Hey, how about we go in and you can ask the shop owner 'bout it?"

"Can you even see it?" Al asks in a condescending way.

"Uh, yeah, I'm not that short…"

"You have no idea what I'm talking about."

"Oh shut up Al, what is it?"

He snickers and blatantly ignores the death glare I give him. "It's that new oil she's been talking about, the one that she saw in a magazine in the shop in Resembool but couldn't afford. She was going crazy about it!" He all but drags me into the store. I stumble as I try to keep up with his longer steps and struggle the whole way until he stops at the counter and begins excitedly asking questions to the clerk. Leaving him to that, I walk further into the store, glancing at a bunch of random things that I really have no clue about but am sure would cause Winry to have a spontaneous orgasm and die.

My stomach does an unpleasant twist. I really wish I could just be in love with her instead. That's what everyone is expecting, and I know it— but as much as I want to, I never picture her when I think of sweaty palms and pounding heart. It never has been her, and now that I think about it, I think it's been the same person ever since I first saw him in Resembool. All I can think about is him and his stupid smug smirk and stupid cold eyes and his stupid bastard self who, for some reason, had taken Al and me in and had been there for us no matter what.

Shaking my head to clear my mind—I really have to stop thinking about him—, I come upon a shelf full of wrenches. I don't know which ones are the best, but there's one that looks really big and shiny and that I'm sure Winry would love to throw at my head. I've got no other ideas and she's always bitching about how she needs more tools, so I grab it and head back to where Al is waiting with that bottle of oil and still talking with the store clerk.

"Oh, Ed!" he says when he sees me. "Did you find anything?"

I hold up the wrench with a slight grin. "Just this. What do you think?"

"Did you even put any thought into it?"

"Come on, Al!" I groan. "It's Winry. She's a _girl_. I don't know what girls like, but Winry seems to be a different breed of girl and would probably have sex with everything in this store. I don't think it requires much thought."

"You're right," Al says with a slight chuckle. "She's so crazy about this stuff. Maybe we should just get her a gift certificate or something instead."

"Let's just give her this stuff and buy her more stuff when she comes up next time. We always end up doing that anyway."

After we buy the automail junkie stuff and leave the store, Al suggests, "Hey, why don't you go get something to eat? We've been walking around for a while. We could go to that little café on main."

"Huh? Oh, that's okay. I'm not hungry," I say distractedly, my mind drifting again. It's been doing that a lot recently, and I can't seem to stop it. It's getting worse.

I vaguely notice that the heavy clunking of Al walking beside me has stopped, and I look back to see him standing there, looking at me with his glowing red eyes. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, Ed… just… are you okay?"

"Yeah," I respond, feeling uncomfortable. I shouldn't be so surprised that he's noticed there's something bothering me, but I'd thought I was doing a good job hiding it. I turn to hide my face and say in a forced cheerful voice, "On second thought, you're right, Al! I'm starving. Come on."

"Don't change the subject!" I hear him say exasperatedly as I start hurrying away. I pretend not to hear and keep walking until I hear him sigh and start following.

If this keeps up, I don't know how I'm going to be able to handle even _looking_ at Mustang ever again. Which is a huge issue, seeing as how he's _kind of_ my boss. It's not even like I can just quit the military— I'm on a contract, and plus, I know Mustang would scold my ear off and turn me to ashes for being a moron if I tried. Plus, I need this position. There is virtually no way I can avoid him for the rest of my life, and I have this awful feeling that if I don't, this crush is just going to get worse and worse until I won't even be able to be in the same room as him without having an emotional breakdown.

Aw, damn it. I don't believe in fate or any of that bullshit, but it really seems like life is determined to kick me in the ass.

xxXXxxXXxx

After the café, Al and I head back to our hotel. It's cooler out now, the sun starting to set and people beginning to go home. The streets slowly empty until there are only a few passers-by, and the setting sun casts shadows that grow longer and longer by the minute. The cool breeze makes my automail, which was out in the open since I'd decided to forgo my red coat and black jacket today, feel cold against my skin. I start to shiver. We're only about a half-hour away from our hotel, though, so it's not a big deal.

"So," Al says hesitantly, like he's afraid I'm going to turn and attack him. I feel so jumpy that he was anyone other than my brother I probably would. "Brother… I know I already asked, but is there something bugging you? You've been… different, for the past few days. I talked to lieutenant Hawkeye, and she mentioned that you and the colonel had another fight… Is that it?"

I laugh a bit bitterly, because it's so appropriate that this would start with something as petty as another squabble between us. "Don't worry about it."

"No!" Al says angrily, stepping in front of me. "I'm tired of you trying to brush me off, Ed! You don't have to deal with everything alone! You can talk to me, I'm your brother, damn it! Don't try and tell me that there's nothing wrong, because I know you, and I know when there's something upsetting you. You get all quiet, and it's really freaky. So," he says, huffing stubbornly and clenching his fists, "tell me. I want to help."

Startled, I hesitate and open my mouth to speak, but it occurs to me that I don't know what to say. It's not that I don't trust Al, it's just… I don't know how he'd feel about this. I'm his older brother, I should be setting an example for him— not going and falling for someone twice my age and not to mention the fact that he's my commanding officer and it's so illegal it's not even funny. And he's a _guy_. There is absolutely nothing feminine about Roy Mustang, unless you counted his unusual vanity about his hair. I mean… It's really frowned upon. Homosexuality. I'm not completely sure that Al would still look at me the same. He's my little brother. He's all I have.

I look up at Al, and he looks so determined and worried, even though he has no means to express emotions, that I feel myself give in. I know he won't hate me, but… I'm still nervous. Maybe if I just be sneaky and don't tell him _who_ is bothering me.

"Ed?"

"Al," I say before he can go any further, looking up at him hesitantly. "Do you… you know… like anyone?"

He seems taken aback, but eventually nods, and I imagine he'd be flushing if he could. "Yeah… why? Is that what's bothering you? Is it 'cause we haven't seen Winry in a—"

"It's not Winry," I interrupt curtly. "It's— well, I'd really rather not tell until I know that you won't think any different of me."

"What? Oh come on, you could be in love with like, Paninya and I wouldn't care!" Al says exasperatedly.

I shift uncomfortably, my throat feeling tight. "It's just… Do you ever… Get confused? I mean, I don't know why I feel like this, I hate it…"

"Well, you can't really control who you like," Al says.

"I know, I just… I… I don't know how to fucking deal with this!" I finally explode, punching the wall and not giving the slightest of fucks when the wood splinters around my hand and cuts into it, making blood sting and run down my wrist. Al looks alarmed and starts, "Ed—" but I keep going before I can stop myself and then suddenly it's like a dam is broken and I can't stop talking. "I don't fucking _want_ to want him, but I can't help it, damn it, why _him,_ he's so out of my reach and there's no way he'd even ever fucking look at me like _that_ and I just can't _take_ it anymore, he won't get out of my fucking head and I'm gonna go crazy thinking about him—It's so _wrong_, Al, but I can't _control_ it and I'm starting to just not want to control it! I don't know what to _do_." My throat tightens, and suddenly I can't breathe. "I-I j-just— I want him out of m-my head—but I _can't_, I can't stop thinking about him and I-I—"

"Brother, calm down!" Al's huge hands grab my shoulders and shake me softly. I'm shaking so hard I can barely stand, and I feel like I might have another panic attack at any given moment now. Al bends to my level slowly and says softly, "Ed, it's okay. Just breathe."

I struggle to take a shaky breath, trying to ignore the tears beading at the corners of my eyes and how pathetic I probably look. Finally, I'm calmed down enough to say in a weak voice, "Al, I'm so fucking screwed."

"It's okay, Ed. Just try to stay calm, alright? It's gonna be okay."

"No, you don't get it…" My throat tightens again, and I nearly choke on the painful lump forming under my Adam's apple. "It's not okay, Al, it's anything _but_ okay and I—"

"Brother." Al's calm voice interrupts me. "So you like someone. You're sixteen. It happens." I still don't meet his eyes, and he sighs. "You're scared, aren't you?"

"I'm not—" But the words die in my throat when I realize Al is right. I _am_ scared. I don't want Mustang to find out because I know there's no way he'd ever feel the same, and I'm scared to admit that I like him because of that. Even to myself. I seem to deflate, all of my anger leaving me, like I'd finally accepted it. "Yeah," I say quietly. "I am, Al, and I don't know what to do."

"Well, first of all, you've just got to accept that you like… you said him, right?"

My ears burn and I avoid his eyes. Al shrugs. "Doesn't make a difference to me what way you roll, Ed, so don't be all awkward."

I stare up at him in disbelief. "You don't care?"

"No. You're still my brother. You're still Ed."

For some reason, I feel relieved— I think a big part of this was worry about Al's reaction. "I was scared you would hate me," I breathe, rubbing at my temples to try to diminish the headache that seemed to have made itself permanent.

"I could never hate you, so don't worry about it. Plus, why would I hate you just 'cause you like guys? That's a stupid reason." I love Al for this— he always manages to calm me down when I'm almost at breaking point. I don't know what I'd do if I didn't have him. And he never beats around the bush, he just gets straight to the point— another thing that I am grateful for, because if not for that we would probably be still standing here tomorrow morning and I'd still be screaming my head off.

"Thanks," I breathe, some stress leaving me in a big whoosh of air. "Thank you, Al, I mean it. Damn it," I say, laughing to myself and wiping at the tears that had beaded in the corners of my eyes. "I'm such a mess."

"There's no need to thank me, you know that. We have to have each other's backs, and I'll always be there. Are you in denial about this, though? I mean… you seem like it."

"No," I say, shaking my head. "I know I like him. I just don't _want_ to."

"Why not?"

"It's… wrong."

"Wrong?" Al says it expectantly. I shrug.

"Yeah." I kick at the ground with the toe of my boot. Al makes a sound of exasperation.

"Brother, come on. Tell me why it's wrong."

"Damn it Al! Because! Because it's just—It's wrong okay!"

"Oh my god," Al mutters. "Just tell me who it is and I can figure it out on my own."

"I don't wanna say…"

Al sighs. "It's the colonel, isn't it?" he says as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. My jaw drops.

"How the hell did you know?" I demand, horrified. Oh Gate. Have I been that obvious? I've been trying so hard to hide it, there's no _way_ he could have figured it out! Hell, I've been hiding it from myself, let alone the whole world! "Oh fuck, Al, is it obvious? Please tell me it isn't, I don't want him to know—"

"Calm down, brother," Al laughs. _Laughs._ As if I'm not in the middle of having the millionth mental breakdown this week! "You're not obvious. I could just tell from the beginning."

"The _beginning_?" My eyes bug out. "What do you mean the beginning? I just fucking realized it a couple days ago, how the hell did you know it from the beginning? When the hell is the beginning, anyway?"

Al shrugs, his big armor making an echoing clank in the empty streets. "I don't know, Ed, I just had this feeling. You always got into ridiculous fights with him and you're always really touchy about him. Not to mention you two are so fiercely protective of each other, and that you can't even be in the same room without getting mad at one another. And before you even say anything, I know the reason you decided to get automail and start living again after the accident is because of what he said to you. Before he came, no one could pull you out of your stupor— even I couldn't. I just… put it together." Al seems to smile. "Well, good choice. I like the colonel."

I stare at him, my mouth hanging open and my eyes huge. He figured it out before _I_ did. That must mean it's really true, and that I didn't just hit my head and wake up fucked up one morning— I really have been festering stupid feelings for that bastard for a while. My stomach feels funny again, and for a moment, I'm afraid I might throw up. Then I realize it's more of a warm, fuzzy feeling— that ridiculous feeling I've only ever read about and scoffed at because I didn't think it was possible to have such a feeling.

"Wait…" I say slowly, my throat thick. "You almost made it sound like you think that that bastard… feels… um, like he—"

"Hm? Oh, I think he does."

"What?" I demand again. "You know who we're talking about right? Roy Mustang? Playboy of Central and East city? The guy who sleeps with a different girl every night and, oh, by the way, thinks I'm an annoying brat who only causes trouble and more paperwork? Who is fourteen years older than I am? Who has an unnatural and slightly creepy obsession with miniskirts? You think _he_ likes _me_? I didn't know it was possible, Al, but I think you're fucking high."

"Well, wear a miniskirt. I'm sure he'd bend you over and—"

"Al!" I blurt, face heating up at the words I never thought I'd hear my little brother say. He snickers a bit.

"I'm no love expert, so don't take my word for it, okay? I just have this feeling that he's so hard on you because he cares about you."

"There's a difference between caring for someone and— _wanting_ them, Al." It almost hurts to say it, but I accept that pain, because if I remember that Mustang is a womanizing pervert who _does not_ like me in any way except for maybe as a friend, then maybe I can get over this dumb crush. "I know he cares about me, otherwise there's no way he'd risk his ass for us. But I also know he doesn't _lov—_like me."

"I know there's a difference, moron, but I really think that the colonel has a soft spot for you."

"Don't be ridiculous," I say warily, feeling drained. I realize then how cold it's gotten, and how the stars are beginning to shine in the dark sky. Shuddering, I begin walking towards the hotel again. "He'd never look at me like that, Al. I'm too young, I'm not a woman and I'm too immature." He starts to say something, but I interrupt him with a short, "Just drop it, okay?"

Al sighs. "Fine."

We walk in silence for a bit more. I know I probably shouldn't have snapped at Al like that when he was just trying to help, but I'm so wound up right now it's not even funny. I didn't mean to, and I feel really bad— he seems upset. Still, I keep quiet, because right now, I just don't want to think. I focus on putting one foot in front of the other on the cracks on the worn-down sidewalk, and force myself not to think of anything except for nothing.

"Are you cold?" Al asks suddenly as we pass under a flickering streetlight. Teeth chattering, I glance up at him.

"What gave it away?" I ask sarcastically.

He seems to roll his eyes. "We could stop in a shop for a minute so you can warm up."

"I'm fine, I just want to get back to the hotel. We're almost there."

"You'll catch a cold, Ed."

I'm just about to tell him again that I'll be fine when the sound of a car approaching distracts me. Normally, I wouldn't look twice, but the engine hums lowly as the vehicle brakes to a slow crawl. By the time I look to see, Al is already saying, "Ah, it's the colonel."

_The colonel?_My heart begins pounding and I get that nervous, shaky feeling again when the old car pulls up next to us, and Mustang rolls down the window. I try to appear normal, but I'm sure the way I'm half-hiding behind Al is giving away the fact that I really don't want to see him right now. "Hey," I hear him say from the driver's seat. I refuse to look up. "It's chilly out, do you guys want a ride?"

"Sure," Al starts, but before I can stop myself, I snap, "No thanks, we'll be fine. Come on, Al." I begin storming off, but I don't get far. Al sighs, then he's grabbing me by my waist and dragging me back to where Mustang is still parked and watching me with slight concern and confusion and a whole lot of amusement. I struggle, but I admit it's kind of half-assed because I really am cold and the idea of a warm vehicle is really appealing. Especially since it's Mustang driving and he's not in his military uniform for once. Instead, he's just wearing a simple white shirt and black jeans, and he looks so good that I feel myself heat up and try to stomp away again.

"Just get in the car, brother, the colonel is being nice and I'm not going to let you ruin it by being a little shit."

I square my shoulders. "Fine," I mutter, opening the passenger door and flopping into the seat. I make sure to avoid looking towards Mustang and instead glower out the window, but I can see him giving me this odd look in the reflection and shift uncomfortably, looking his way. "What?" I ask, more snappishly than intended.

Mustang shrugs and looks back to the windshield, taking the car out of park as Al closes the back door behind him. "Nothing," he mutters, and if I'm not mistaken, he rolled his eyes at me. Whatever. "Where are you guys headed?"

"Our usual hotel, please," Al says, a lot more politely than I would have. "You know where it is, right?"

"Yeah. I've had to give Ed a ride a few times after he got lost and called." Mustang's voice holds a slight smirk, and I grimace.

"Shut up. I only call you 'cause I don't have to pay you."

"One of these days I'm going to ask for payment, you know" he says smoothly, shooting me a sidelong glance. "I'm not your personal taxi."

"I'm not giving you money, asshole. You've already closed my account a zillion times and borrowed from me even more."

"Money isn't the only form of payment, Edward." His voice is completely innocent, but my mind twists his words and I turn bright red, turning my head to face the window. I ignore Al's snicker from the backseat.

The rest of the drive is in silence, but it's such a tense silence that I might as well have taken out a butter knife and cut the tension because it's thick as butter. For me, anyway. I'm sure Al and the colonel are fine.

I have to get over this. I can't keep being like this around Mustang, otherwise my job is going to suffer, and it's not like he deserves it. I just have to calm down and accept that I have these feelings and just deal with them. Of course, I've never really been all that great at controlling my emotions, and so it's really hard— but I manage to take a few deep breaths and my shoulders relax a bit until I'm not quite as wound up as I was.

Maybe it could work— I could just harbour this little crush on him, without him ever knowing, and if I do that, it'll eventually go away. Crushes fade. Right?

"So… colonel," I say in the steadiest voice I can manage.

"Yeah? By the way, you know you don't have to call me that when you're not on duty, right?"

"Yeah," I mutter, staring down at my fists, which were curled into balls on my lap. "Fine… Mustang. I'm just wondering, why did you give me this whole week off?"

Out of the corner of my eye, I see him frown. "You've been really off ever since we had that fight the other day, and I'm worried. I thought maybe you could use some time to relax, especially since everything's been so hectic lately."

This makes me get that warm feeling inside again and I have to duck my head to hide a smile. "Thanks," I say quietly. "Sorry I've been so…"

"Bratty?" Mustang suggests. I grimace at him, but sigh.

"Yeah. Sorry."

"It's fine." He's turning into the hotel parking lot now, and for some reason, I'm disappointed. I hesitantly look up at him to see him smirking. "It's not like you can help being what you are, pipsqueak."

"Don't call me that!" I snap automatically, punching his shoulder.

"Don't distract the driver, idiot!" Al pipes in from the backseat. I stick my tongue out at him and flop back into my seat.

"You're both so mean to me," I say in a pouty way.

Mustang snickers— actually _snickers_, damn it!— at me and says, "Deal with it, Ed. We're not going to be leaving any time soon."

Aaaand now I'm feeling all blushy and girly and warm and shaky again— whatever part of me that was still refusing to admit I fell for him shatters, and I feel myself fall all the way. The worst part is that I don't actually care anymore— I'll just have to accept it for what it is. In the backseat, Alphonse giggles.

xxXXxxXXxx

On hindsight, it was probably incredibly pointless for me to go for a walk fifteen minutes after we returned to our room, but my thoughts were scrambled and my mind whirring. I couldn't bring myself to just sit still, so I'd grabbed my red coat and was just about to leave when Al emerged from the next room. He seemed to look at me curiously, but it was hard to tell. I'm sure I looked guilty, not that I'd had any reason to.

"Where are you going?" Al had asked.

I didn't really have a place in mind, so I'd just shrugged. "Dunno, just around the hotel I guess. I just need some time to think."

"Oh, okay. Well, be careful, brother."

"I will," I said with a grateful smile. Al's patience was golden; I really didn't want to talk about anything right now, and he seemed to understand that. "I'll be back in a bit."

Now, I'm walking down a dark street, only some of the streetlights working and most of them flickering. The moon casts a sort of silvery glow on the empty streets and makes the white buildings glow in an almost surreal way, but as pretty and mysterious as it looks, I can't bring myself to focus on it. All I can think about is the mess I'd landed myself in, and how I could get out of it. No matter how I looked at it, I couldn't, unless I left the country or something. Even then, I know that I wouldn't be able to stop thinking about him. It's driving me up the wall, because the knowledge that he will never feel the same back hurts in a way I've never been hurt before.

Especially after what had happened in his car. He probably had no clue how much those words meant to me. _Deal with it, Ed. We're not going to be leaving any time soon._ He probably didn't know how much they hurt, either. If I had to deal with not being able to have him for the rest of my life, and see him find someone else that isn't me… Well, I don't want to think about that.

Sighing, I look up from the ground, only to realize I have absolutely no idea where I am. I glance at the giant clock on the Eastern command centre, surprised to see that it's ten o'clock at night—I've been walking around aimlessly for almost two hours. The whole time, I've been brooding and thinking about what I'm going to do about Mustang. Fuck. Being in love is annoying.

An inexplicable lump settles behind my Adam's apple, and my eyes are burning suddenly— I don't know why, but I want to cry. Maybe it's out of sheer frustration, or maybe it's because I hate feeling so helpless. I grit my teeth and bash my head against a lamppost, refusing to let myself cry over this. It's like ever since I acknowledged to myself that what I have is a lot more than a stupid crush, it's just gotten worse and worse, steadily falling in a downward spiral that I have no idea how to get out of. I somehow feel like I'm being pulled in a bunch of different directions, even though I know it's simple— I love him, and that's that. It just feels like someone has a firm grasp on my heart and is trying to rip it out.

Hitting my head against this lamppost seems to help take out my anger, and so I keep doing it, letting myself mutter insults and curses under my breath. It makes me feel a bit better, because I can at least _pretend_ that I still hate him. Even though I really, really don't. Ugh. I hate this. I'd love to hear Winry go on about this— she has a serious weak spot for tragic, unrequited love stories.

Which this kinda is. I mean fuck! It's tragic and unrequited in every way! How could I be stupid enough to fall for someone so— so— so goddamn unattainable! Fuck!

"You know," a voice says dryly from behind me. I'm so caught up in my dark mutterings that I almost don't hear it. "I really don't think you can handle anymore brain damage. You might cause it to forget how to grow and be stuck the size of a shrimp forever."

It's like I'm on autopilot, because without even needing to look, I snap, "That doesn't even fucking make _sense_, you pyromaniac douchebag bastard colonel dick fucknut. Go away!"

Now I'm _really_ convinced that life has it out for me. Two times in one evening? What the hell is he even doing out here?

I can practically feel his smirk, but I still don't turn around. I'm still in the middle of having my biggest emotional breakdown yet, damnit!

"That was an impressive amount of insults. Congratulations. Perhaps you should smash your head off of lampposts more often."

"Oh shut up," I sigh, but it's a lot more automatic than heartfelt. I finally turn around, crossing my arms in my typical I'm-getting-real-tired-of-your-shit-colonel pose. I am trying to clear my mind of all my thoughts and confusion about him, and then he goes and shows up. He's good. It's like he knows exactly what to do to make me _not_ stop thinking about him. My irritation spikes when I catch the widening smirk on his perfect mouth. "What?" I gripe. "Stop staring, you freak."

"You really should be more polite," he says condescendingly, frowning. "I _am_your superior."

"Well, we aren't on duty right now, and as you pointed out earlier when you gave Al and me a ride, I don't have to treat you like my superior when we're not on the clock. And plus, I really don't give a shit. I'm going to stick with insulting you, because I like it." I really do. It's the only way I can actually take my irritation for making me fall for him out on him without physically assaulting him and getting arrested or something.

He gives a little chuckle. "I guess it would be weird if you did otherwise."

It kind of falls silent then, but it's not really awkward— well, it is, but it isn't. I don't know how to explain it. It's not tense or anything, but it's stressful enough for me to talk to him at work, never mind in a random, casual place like this. Add the fact that I don't really know where to look or what to do with my hands (crossing my arms seems too hostile now, and it's awkward if they just dangle there, so I kind of just start adjusting my braid for something to do), and I can say that this is successfully one of the most awkward scenarios I've ever had with Mustang. Ever.

Why do I call him Mustang in my head, anyway? I could call him Roy. Hm… I don't know, it's weird. It feels too… familiar. As long as I call him Mustang in my head, I feel like I can still keep a distance from him. Shut up and don't judge me. It's working for me so far. Ish.

I realize then that he's staring at me, his slanted eyes guarded in a way that makes me unable to read them but somehow incredibly nervous. Why is he so hard to understand?

"What the fuck is your problem?" I demand in an attempt to cut the butter-thick tension between us. I try to ignore the pounding of my heart in my throat, and the nagging fear that maybe, somehow, Mustang found out I have a thing for him. The worst thing is that if he knew, he would tease me to no end— he wouldn't outright reject me, he would just play with me like a cat swatting at a dangling string. He's sadistic like that.

However, my rude question did its job, and the weird tension disappears, just like that. His lips curl back up into his usual smirk, and again I am extremely uncomfortable in my own skin.

"Oh, nothing… I was just thinking to myself that you really are tiny."

My eyebrow twitches, but I manage to keep my temper in check— mostly because when I get mad, I say things I don't mean to, and that's not something I can afford to do right now. Plus, I know he wasn't really thinking about that, because as smooth as Mustang is, sometimes he's as easy to read as a book. He wasn't thinking about my stupid lack of height, and while I don't know _what_ he was thinking… I can tell it was something different. Again, that fear that he knows I like him arises, but I swallow it down.

"What are you doing out here anyway?"

Mustang's smirk fades, and he shrugs. "I had stuff on my mind, so I decided to go for a walk. I could ask the same, anyway. You're pretty far from your hotel, which if you don't remember, I went out of my way to drop you off at."

I can't help but grin at his annoyed tone. "Hey, you offered. I had the same idea as you, though. Needed to clear my head. I guess I got lost." I let out a short laugh. "Well, tonight officially sucks ass."

Mustang raises a curious eyebrow at that, but thankfully doesn't pry. "It's cold," is all he says, turning around. "My house is nearby. I can make coffee, if you'd like."

My heart does a strange little stutter. "You mean you want me to come over? To your place?"

He throws me back an odd look. "You're far from your hotel, and it's cold. So yes, Fullmetal. Would you like to come to my place for a cup of coffee before I drive you back to your hotel?"

"You're driving me back?" I say stupidly, still a bit shocked. His lips quirk up, and I quickly cover that idiotic moment by saying, "Um, sure." And then, "Wait, Mustang."

"What?"

I jog to catch up to him. "You walk faster than me."

"Oh, is that all?"

"What? Oh, no. Actually… I don't really drink coffee. You know."

"Ah." A smirk curls his lips and he glances down at me. "Caffeine stunts your growth. You can't afford for that to happen, right?"

I glare at him, but it's more of an automatic response than actual anger. "Yeah."

"I have hot chocolate."

I swear to fucking god something inside of me just died. I love hot chocolate. My eyes widen and I can't help but let out a short burst of laughter. "You? Hot chocolate?"

Mustang's eyebrows furrow. "Why is that weird?"

"Dunno. I just… never really pegged you as a hot chocolate kind of guy."

We pass under a streetlight then, and his eyes seem to sparkle in amusement. It's a really good look for him. Once he loses the whole colonel façade and just lets himself be Roy Mustang… mm, yeah. I can totally see why I fell so hard.

"Clearly you don't know me as well as you think you do," he says with a grin. My stomach starts doing backflips. He gestures for us to turn onto the cracked cement path leading up to a tall, narrow, two-story house, and the backflips turn into full-on pirouettes as I realize I'm actually going to go into his house and spend time with him outside of work. _In his goddamn house._ It's going to be all Mustang-y and it's going to smell like him and it's going to have his stuff everywhere and it's _where he fucking lives, goddamnit._ I can't decide if I should grin like an idiot (in my head, of course) or start having a panic attack.

"Clearly," I echo, my voice sounding just a bit weak.

"Well," he says over the jingling of keys and the click of the deadbolt sliding out of place, giving me a smirk and a raised eyebrow over his shoulder, "I'll make us both some hot chocolate, and maybe we can change that."

**xxXXxxXXxx**

**KissMeDeadlyT-T: FUCK YOU FOR NOT BEING REAL ROY MUSTANG JUST FUCK YOU SERIOUSLY**

**Anyways, I hope this was a good first part… I worked pretty hard on it, actually. I hope everyone liked it, 'specially you, PreventPersuadePervert. :) Please leave a review, I eat those things like candy! I'll try to get around to the second chapter as soon as I can.**


	2. Chapter 2

**KissMeDeadlyT-T: Alright, here is part two. (FINALLY OMG) Thanks for the reviews, guys, they were lovely! Sorry it took so long. I haven't been able to properly write anything except drabbles lately… **

**PreventPersuadePervert**** ughhhh I'm sorry this is a gift fic and it's taking so long. ;-; I'm glad you understand, though, thank you for being so supportive!~**

**Note: In this chapter I mention an ice box, which is supposed to be a fridge. I mean, they didn't have fridges and freezers in the early 1900s, even in an alternate world— so… ice box it is. I don't even know if that's a thing. Meh, well… In Amestris, it is. Now, anyway. (Because really!)**

**xxXXxxXXxx**

His house is nothing like I thought it'd be. For whatever reason, I'd always thought that Mustang would keep his living quarters tidy, that the furniture would match and that everything would be sort of plain and empty. After all, he doesn't spend much time there, if the rumours are true, and he's always getting switched from Central to East city, so why would his house be anything other than a place where he sleeps?

It turns out I was wrong. Really wrong. I don't know why I'm surprised, considering the state his desk in his office is always in, but the place looks very lived in and actually kinda… cozy. As I follow him into the living room, I look around, spotting pictures in black frames hanging slightly askew on the light olive painted walls, soft and used-looking deep red cushions on a couch and chair, and a small glass coffee table littered with papers and picture frames in the middle of the room. Right in the center of it, there's a narrow dark blue vase that contains what seems to have been flowers once upon a time, judging from the browned and withered stems hanging limply and brushing the surface of the table. On the far side of the room, near the open kitchen, there is a huge bay window that had assorted cushions of random sizes and patterns thrown about carelessly and a novel open on its spine resting on a little bench in front of it. Looking out, I can see a perfect view of most of the Western part of the city and of Eastern command way in the distance. Between two dark oak bookshelves is a brick fireplace, which looks quite used. I'm not surprised. I want to look at what kind of books he has, maybe just to get a peek into the unseen part of Roy Mustang, but I feel like that would be sort of nosy, so I just settle for looking around the room again. It's actually pretty nice… somewhere I wouldn't mind walking downstairs to in the mornings. It's so different from the dingy hotels that Al and I usually stay in.

_Don't torture yourself, Ed,_ I say to myself silently in my head. I have to stick with the harsh reality that those dingy hotels are probably where I'm going to be waking up for a long time.

"Make yourself at home," Mustang says, casually tossing his jacket onto the back of the couch and heading towards the kitchen. "Just don't destroy anything."

"I'll try," I answer sarcastically, feeling a bit light when he gives a small grin in return. God, it hurts how much I want him. It actually physically hurts, like there's a thorn in my chest sapping all the good feelings out from it and leaving a hollow, throbbing space. I'm so glad no one can hear my thoughts. I'm positive they'd check me for a vagina 'cause I'm acting like a fuckin love-sick little girl.

Thankfully, he'd already wandered into the kitchen, so he couldn't see the sudden wetness in my eyes. I can hear him tinkering about the cupboards and glance over at his bookshelves again, my hands twitching involuntarily as I inch towards them hesitantly. Well, he said to make myself at home…

"Edward?"

The sound of his voice makes me jump. Feeling inanely guilty, I glance back, trying not to look it. "What?"

He raises an eyebrow, as if he wonders why I'm so twitchy. I don't blame him. "I was going to ask if you want me to put milk in your hot chocolate."

My face scrunches up at the thought of that, and before I can even answer, he lets out a quiet laugh. "Right, didn't think so," he murmurs, and turns his back to me to reach for something in the ice box. "Then you just want water and chocolate?"

"Yeah." Then I remember that he'd invited me into his house and was now making me hot chocolate for no damn reason, so I begrudgingly add, "Thanks."

"No problem."

I hesitate there for a moment, tittering as I debate whether or not to go snoop at his books or just sit awkwardly down on the couch. Finally, I wander over to the counter, watching him from the other side. My fingers tap nervously on the edge of the countertop. "Hey, Mustang…"

His eyebrows raise in a 'what?' kind of way as he flicks his tongue distractedly across the spoon, licking off the wetted chocolate powder. I falter, whatever I'd been about to ask disappearing as a light flush heats up my neck and cheeks. I quickly duck my head and hide behind my long bangs before he can notice, feeling uncomfortably warm and regretting my earlier decision of not taking off my heavy red coat. Just… fuck, I'm done. He's gonna kill me. The image keeps replaying over and over in my head and I know it's probably going to fuel my dreams for the next damn eternity. I swear to fucking whatever god there is that he's doing this to torture me, but I know he isn't— I'm just torturing myself. Damnit. My eyebrows draw together in frustration.

This is frustrating. This whole being in love thing. It's asking for a severe kicking of the ass, if you ask me, but you can't really kick an emotion in the ass so this just sucks really bad and—

"Ed?"

"Oh. Right." I abruptly remember that I'd been asking him something. Trying to pass off my flustered appearance as tiredness or something, I glance back at the shelf. "Can I look at your books?"

Oddly enough, the question makes his cheeks turn a light pink. An involuntary grin splits my face as his hands, which were once upon a time stirring milk into his cup of hot chocolate, freeze. He suddenly looks really awkward.

"What?" I ask, somewhat maliciously, grinning wider when he lets out a small groan. "You got some erotica or something over there?"

"Excuse _you_. I'm not a pervert."

"Said Roy Mustang, the biggest perve in the world. You totally do!" I exclaim, darting over just to see it and get evidence so I can have blackmail on him. Hah, I am _never_ letting him live this down. He looks so embarrassed! You don't usually see the oh-so-cold and stoic Roy Mustang flustered, and I'm going to milk it for all its worth because it's _so fucking awesome_. I don't even care if he finds some way to punish me by sending me on a ridiculous mission in like, the North— it's so worth it.

I flick my eyes over the various titles of the different books on the shelves, a little spark of excitement buzzing in the faraway parts of my mind when I see some old, alchemical books that look very used and very, very interesting. So the bastard has a pretty good selection of reading material. I didn't think it was possible to like him even more, but I do. Ugh. Great, just what I need. I hear him warily half-groan my name, and throw back a devilish grin upon finding a small stack, hidden away behind a large portrait of a harsh-looking woman with dark hair tied firmly into a no-nonsense side ponytail and a cigarette hanging from the side of her painted-red lips. I wonder vaguely who she is, but don't really dwell on it as I pull out a couple novellas that are definitely smutty and that I would probably shit a storm of bricks if I saw my brother reading.

Raising my eyebrows and grinning toothily at him, I hold one of the books up next to my face. "Nice," I say with a snicker. "Roy Mustang, the Hero of Ishbal, has a giant collection of porn novels. I guess I'm not surprised."

"Oh my god, shut up," he says, groaning miserably and letting his forehead fall dramatically onto the wooden countertop. The spoon in his cup is long forgotten and he says in the whiniest voice ever, "Don't tell anyone, or I swear I'll find some way to make you suffer."

"No way. I've got blackmail on you now. There is nothing you can do."

"I'll put milk in your hot chocolate," he threatens.

"I'll bring these into work tomorrow and show Hawkeye," I shoot back, making my voice casual even though I'm still grinning impishly at him.

His face pales again. "Please don't. I would never be able to look her in the eye ever again."

"Then don't put milk in my hot chocolate."

"Fine, you little shit."

I give him a saccharine smile. "And add another spoonful of chocolate powder."

"You're going to get fat, Ed."

"Hell no, do you see the shit I do every time you send me on a mission? I've got a body of steel. Sort of literally, actually." I tap the metal fingers in question on the cover of the novel in my hand. "Another spoonful, Mustang, or your secret's out."

"Do you think you can just eat all my food?"

"It's hot chocolate powder, you offered, and I'm sure you can afford it, _Colonel_."

"Fine."

He begrudgingly adds another bit of chocolate to my cup, and I grin. Tossing the spoon into the sink, he makes a slightly irritated face when it flicks droplets of hot chocolate onto the counter. Apparently, he doesn't care that much, because he just grabs both mugs and walks back into the living room. I glance back down at the book in my hand, my eyes drifting over the bold-faced title and the cheesy picture of two men embracing in a pretty suggestive way. Sheesh. Mustang is a perv. He seriously—

…Wait a second. I take a second look, something not quite registering in my head. My eyes widen when I confirm it— two _men_. This is— this is _gay erotica._ _Oh my actual fucking fuck._ Why would he— he's so straight I can practically feel the heterosexuality rolling off of him in waves! I don't— I can't— My brain refuses to wrap itself around the fact that _there is gay erotica on Roy Mustang's bookshelf_. I notice him approaching, though, and I don't think he meant for me to notice that (actually, I don't think he meant for me to notice any of this, to be honest), so I quickly shove it underneath one of the other hetero novels, pretending like I hadn't seen anything, even though on the inside my heart is pounding and my mind reeling.

"You know one of my deepest, darkest secrets now, Ed."

I jolt somewhat, glancing back at him. "Really," I say weakly. It's just… I can't believe that there's even a possibility that he would like men. I couldn't even picture him being bisexual. He's just so _straight_. Isn't he the one always going on about his dates with girls and how a man should be able to balance his job and a girlfriend and tiny miniskirts? Now this—agh. My thoughts are currently equivalent to the result of smashing one's face into a typewriter.

Mustang smirks, sinking down onto the furthest side of the couch and setting my cup on the glass table on top of some random paperwork. I wonder vaguely if I should point that out, because it's probably an important document, but then remember who I'm dealing with and think better of it. Those papers were probably due weeks ago.

Placing the books back into the shelf and fixing the picture frame of the big woman (which, I notice, has a messy handwriting in the corner claiming her to be a Madame Christmas), I push myself up and wander back to the couch. For a moment, I debate between sitting on the opposite side of the couch or the chair across the room, but before I can decide, he does for me. "You can sit on the couch. I don't bite."

I snort, flopping down on the opposite end. "Somehow, I don't believe you."

"Well, I guess I do bite. But only if you want me to."

I _was_ in the midst of reaching to grab my hot chocolate (which looks really good, by the way, and if I find out that he is a good cook too I'm going to fall even harder because anyone who can cook is a god in my books), but his words make me do a double take. Especially after what I'd just discovered on his bookshelf. I look incredulously at him, but he doesn't seem to really realize what he'd just said and is instead sort of just staring out the bay window. He's so hard to read. I just… ugh, I want to punch him.

I try to forget that had just happened— it must have just been a wrong choice of words, or a slip of the tongue, and actually, I really don't want to think about his tongue—and wrap mismatched fingers around the pastel green mug he'd brought me. I bring it closer to my face, and an involuntary smile curls my lips. It smells really good. I don't like the idea of burning my tongue, though, so I just hold it to my chest until the curling steam dies down.

"Now you have to tell me yours."

Blinking, I look up at him. "Tell you my what now?"

He rolls his eyes and sips at the hot chocolate as though the water isn't scolding hot and perfectly capable of killing someone. "Your deepest, darkest secret." He says it in this overly dramatic voice, one that people use telling spooky stories around the campfire at night. I'm grinning like an idiot now (seriously, I had no idea he was like this outside of work; I mean, he's still an ass but he's not as much of an ass as usual, y'know?), but I can't really find it in me to care.

My deepest, darkest secret… Yeah no. I don't think I'm gonna tell him that one. '_Okay, I want you to stand up and walk over here and grab me by my collar and kiss me until I forget how to breathe_ _and hold me until I feel like I'm going to melt into you and reciprocate these stupid feelings that I have for you, Mustang. Not nearly as exciting as your porn novels, huh?_

Somehow I don't think that would go very smoothly. Actually, I would probably end up killing myself. So yeah.

"You already know," I say quietly.

"I do," he muses. "But there must be something else that's _not_ horrifying. I can assure you that the fact that I have a stash of erotica is not the worst thing about me."

"I'm not surprised," I say with a slight smirk. He just gives me this unsatisfied look, so I sigh. "I don't know… Jeez, what are we? A couple of girls spilling our secrets to each other?" I make my voice a high falsetto. "Like, oh my God, Rooyyy. You would _not_ believe it. Al, like, _totally_ has the hots for Winry. For reals."

Mustang snorts and reaches a foot out to kick my leg. It's a good things it's my automail one, or I'd feel it and I'd probably have like a mental breakdown because he touched me or something. Fuck, I'm pathetic.

"Should you really be telling me that?"

"Oh, whatever. It's Al. He's not the best at hiding things."

"Neither are you," he points out. My cheeks heat up.

"Yeah I am."

"No. You really aren't."

"Shut up, bastard! I can hide things perfectly fine!"

"No, trust me." He raises his eyebrows at me over the rim of his cup. "You're like an open book, Edward."

The flush rising up my cheeks is getting a bit too hot for comfort, and that panic is settling in my throat again. I thought I was doing a good job. I _know_ I'm doing an _okay_ job hiding it, but if I'm as easy to read as he says, then he can probably tell that I… Oh, Gate. Now I feel awkward. Why the hell isn't he booting me out of here in disgust?

I need to change the subject before I die. I clear my throat, fidgeting with the mug in my hands, my shoulders tense. Then I blurt, "Sometimes I use coconut milk conditioner on my hair because it smells good."

He just looks at me incredulously. "What?"

_Oh my fucking god, why do I talk? Kill me._ I wish the ground would open up and eat me.I grin weakly. "Deepest, darkest secret. Yep."

"Your deepest darkest secret is that you use girly conditioner?" He grins, clearly amused.

"It's hard to take care of long hair," I say half-heartedly, idly fingers a strand that had fallen out of my braid sometime when I'd been walking. Pushing my bottom lip out into something like a pout, I sink down on the couch, avoiding his laughing eyes. "Shut up."

"If it makes you feel better… one weekend, Hawkeye was staying over and she left her bodywash in the bathroom by accident. I was out of mine, so I used it. I never told her. It was called 'Honeysuckle pink sugar' or something, and …I still use it to this day."

I can't help it— I burst into snickers at the idea of him using such a feminine scent, and the grin he shoots back is nothing short of bashful. "That's perfect," I manage to get out through laughter. "I am never letting you live this down. Ever. You're going to turn eighty and I'm gonna show up and give you a bottle of that, wrapped up in pink wrapping paper and tied with a sparkly red ribbon."

"You think you'll still be around to be a pain in my ass in fifty years?"

"Hell yeah. As if you could rid of me _that_ easily."

"Is that a promise?" His eyes meet mine, and I swear that my heart almost bursts out of my chest. This is so bad, so, so horrible— this teasing and laughing and _conversation_ is making me fall even harder, shoving me deeper and deeper into this shithole, so far in that there is no way in hell I'm ever going to be able to claw myself out. I just… I don't even care anymore. The way this is going, I'm going to do something stupid and he's going to find out, but I just can't make myself care. Even if he were to reject me (which, even though I want to think that something is happening right now, I know was going to be the turnout either way), there's no way that I can fall out of love with him. He's got me hook, line and sinker, and he isn't even trying.

I remember asking my mom before she died why she still loved Hohenheim, still waited for him and pined for him, even after he left us. Why would she wait and love someone who was hurting her? I didn't get it then, and I'm only starting to understand her answer now; A soft smile and a gentle, "Ed, I love him. You'll find that one person someday, and then you'll understand."

My eyes tear up a little bit. _Well, mom, you were right; I found him._

Fuck, I'm such a fucking sap.

I bring my knees up to my chest and rest my head on them, a warm, fluttery feeling in my stomach. "Yeah." I look away, but can't keep the small smile off of my face. "It's a promise."

**xxXXxxXXxx**

It's really weird to spend this much time with him and not have an argument. I honestly didn't think we were capable of it, but apparently, we are. I mean, he occasionally pokes fun at my lack of height, and I, in turn, remind him that he's a girly man who likes to use girly bodywash and eat chocolate, but that's not arguing. I really like this. Too much, probably, but I don't care. Even if I can never have him like _that, _we seem to make decent friends, and that's good enough for me.

The clock on the counter of the kitchen suddenly starts a loud _bong, bong, bong_ sound and I realize with a start that it's midnight. "Damn it!" I say, jumping to my feet and grabbing my coat. "I told Al I'd be back in a bit, crap, he's probably so worried. Fuck, I am a horrible brother, he's gonna kill me…" Guilt wracks at my chest. I'd completely forgotten about Al, about everything except for hot chocolate, Roy, and his cozy living room.

Roy stands up too, and I like to think I imagine a flash of disappointment go through his eyes. It's probably just that, though; my imagination. "Do you want a ride?"

_Um, yes __**please**__._ I ignore the perverted voice in my head and cover my face with my hand, massaging at my temples. I really don't want to leave, but I know I have to… I can't stay here forever, as much as I'd love to. "Ugh… Al is going to yell my ear off… But sure, I guess."

"Well… you could stay the night." He almost sounds hopeful. Eyes wide in disbelief and another strange flutter happening in my stomach, I give him an 'are you serious?' look. The whole idea of offering a place for his subordinate to stay, in a romantic way or not, is wildly inappropriate, and I'm sure he knows it. Still, his offer doesn't waver. "I have a spare room, and it's really late… And I'd probably get us killed if I tried to drive right now."

"I can drive."

"No you can't, Ed," he says in an amused way.

I try to ignore my heart pounding in my chest, and the way my mouth is suddenly as dry as a desert. It's really tempting. But I really can't. "Well…"

"Edward." He makes a strange sort of face, and then lets out a strangled sigh. "Look…please?"

Again, my eyes widen and my jaw drops open in disbelief. "You actually want me to stay?" I demand, ignoring the way my voice wavers.

He looks terribly awkward, and it's so cute that I almost forget how to breathe. My brain sucks at this whole being in love thing. "Well… yeah, I guess. It's just… I suppose I'm lonely. Don't you dare make fun of me for admitting that," he says with a glare when I grin a bit. "But… well, it's just an offer. You can call Alphonse, if you'd like, so he doesn't worry."

"I'm just not really sure how my being here will help," I say dryly. "I'm not the greatest company and you'll be asleep anyway."

"You're pretty good company, actually. When you're not being a brat that is."

"I am not a brat!"

Completely ignoring that, he continues, "It's up to you, of course, I just—It would be nice to have another person in my house for once."

I'm so going to regret this… "Okay, fine," I say, lifting my empty cup. "But only if you make me more hot chocolate."

Then he smiles at me and I almost melt right into the couch and disappear forever. "Deal." He takes my cup and wanders back towards the kitchen. "The phone's over there, if you want to use it."

I nod and stand up, really trying to ignore the fact that I'm going to _sleep at Roy Mustang's house_ _holy crap_. At the phone, I dial the number to our hotel and wait as patiently as I can for the receptionist to pick up. It takes almost all of my willpower to keep from fidgeting and glancing back to see what Roy's doing. Gate, I'm actually about to have another emotional breakdown— he wants me to stay. He _wants me to stay_. I never thought I'd see the day where Roy Mustang admits he's lonely and asks for someone— _me_, of all people— to be the one to keep him company. It gives me really nice warm feeling; it makes me feel wanted. Needed, even.

And damned if that's not something I've wanted for a long time.

I know Al needs me, but that's different. We're brothers; I've always had his back and he's always had mine. It isn't the same when it's the person you're in love with admitting they'd rather spend the night with you, even just sleeping, than alone. That… really makes me want to just hug him or something. Just wrap my arms around his waist and never ever let him go because I think I need him more forever than he needs me to stay the freaking night.

Ugh, damn, I'm getting all sappy and girly again.

I realize then that there is a voice chirping in my ear, and snap out of it, quickly glancing back to make sure Mustang didn't notice my weird flush. "Uh, hi, sorry," I say, interrupting the receptionist's repeated '_hello_?' "Can you connect me to room 213?"

"Of course, please hold."

No, I don't want to hold, seriously, just hurry the fuck up. If I hold then my mind is going to start wandering again and I really don't want that to happen because I really just need to pretend I don't have feelings for Mustang for the night because _for the love of all that is good I am staying here the night and_—

"Hello?"

"Al," I breathe, relieved to have some distraction. "Hey, s—"

"_Where the hell are you_?" he all but screeches into the phone. I hold it away from my ear, grimacing as he goes on in a shrill, hysteric voice, "It's been _three hours, _Ed, _three hours_! I went out looking for you and you weren't anywhere! Do you have _any_ idea how worried I was?"

"I'm sorry," I say, chewing my bottom lip. "Really, I am, Al. I just… I lost track of time, and… It slipped my mind, I'm sorry…"

Al lets out a long sigh and I hear a loud _clunk_, letting me know he'd fallen down onto a bed. I can picture him sitting there with his head in his hands, freaking out about me, and guilt wracks at my insides. "I'm just glad you're safe, but you'd better be ready for a severe punch when you get back," he says. I don't doubt him for an instant. "Where did you end up going?"

"Er…" How am I going to explain this? "I was just sorta… walking, you know? I kinda got lost. I, uh… I ran into the colonel, and he… Well, I'm at his house."

"Oh." Then Al seems to realize something, and repeats, "_Ohhh_. _Ed_."

I turn dark red at his tone of suggestive disbelief. "No— no, damn it, Al! It's not like _that_, holy shit!"

"What's wrong?" Mustang asks from the kitchen.

"Nothing!" I say quickly, turning half-way to give him a hasty grin and thumbs up that, in retrospect, probably made me look like a moron. He shrugs and goes back to mixing the hot chocolate, and I turn to face the wall again, my face hot. I glower at the phone as though Al could see me. "It was cold out, so he offered me a place to warm up. That's it."

"Oh," Al says again, chuckling awkwardly. "Sorry."

"Ugh..."

"So when are you coming back?"

I hesitate, biting my lip again. "About that…"

"_Brother_."

"What!" I say defensively, flushing. "It's too cold for me to walk and— and Mustang can't drive me, he's all tired and stuff and—"

Al just makes a sound of disbelief, and I can picture him sitting there shaking his head at me. "I won't wait up for you, then."

"Okay." Relieved he's not asking any more questions, I start to tell him I'll be back tomorrow morning, but he interrupts me before I can start.

"Just… don't do anything you'll regret."

"Damn it, Al, have a little faith in me, will you?" I lower my voice and mutter, "I _do_ know how to exert self-control."

"Sometimes I seriously doubt that," he replies warily.

This is so not something I want to discuss with my brother right now. I roll my eyes. "I'm hanging up."

"Wait!" he says quickly. "I know you're not stupid or a girl, but please, for the love of god, be safe and use protection if—"

"_Good-bye, Alphonse_." I slam the phone down. By the time I feel that the blush on my face has died down enough and turn to walk back to the couch, Roy is walking back into the living room. He quirks an eyebrow and his lips twitch when he sees me standing there awkwardly (_again_— oh my fucking god I need to gather my shit), flopping back down on his end of the couch and holding my mug out towards me. I quickly take it and sit back down, hoping to deter him from asking about my rude good-bye to Al, but no such luck. He makes a sound of amusement.

"I take it Alphonse thought it was weird you ended up here?"

I roll my eyes. "That's an understatement. I thought he was going to start screeching holy hell at me, sheesh." I conveniently leave out the fact that my brother seems to be a bit perverted and has a freaky thought process, because I'm pretty sure that if I tell Mustang something like that he'll just make fun of me. Sipping at my hot chocolate, I narrow my eyes suspiciously at him. "Did you put milk in?"

"Yeah."

I set the mug down with a sour face. "Why the hell would you do that?"

He lets out a snort. "There's a tablespoon in there, Edward, I think you'll survive."

"Why did you even put it in? You're a traitor."

"Because milk is good for your bones. Maybe it'll help them grow and you'll be less short."

"You do realize I saw where the knives were, right? I'll kill you. Seriously."

"It's milk. Don't be a drama queen."

"Drama queen, my ass," I seethe. "I'm not a damn girl, you bastard, and I _hate_ milk. I'm actually lactose intolerant. Now I'm going to die."

Roy just rolls his eyes. "You're not lactose intolerant, dumbass. You wouldn't die even if you were. Drink your damn hot chocolate or I'm going to shove it down your throat."

"Rude." Still, I sip at it again. It's not _that_ noticeable…

"Rude? You're the one kicking up a fuss after I very selflessly shared my hot chocolate with you." He lets out an indignant sniff, and I'm really not sure if he's being serious or not. "That's not something I do for everyone, you know. You should be thanking me. You know, begging to birth my children or something."

I nearly choke on my hot chocolate and burst out laughing. "Oh yeah, Mustang, I want your babies."

"Knew it." He grins that grin that makes my limbs feel like jelly, and I'm really glad I'm sitting down.

"Damn shame I don't have a vagina, huh?" I say sarcastically.

"I'm sure we can work our way around that."

I look at him suspiciously, smirking. "You trying to say you wanna fuck me, Mustang?" It's a joke, of course, one that makes my stomach hurt because I really wish that _was_ what he was saying. Wow, that makes me sound like a huge fucking perve. Okay, I don't want him to just fuck me— I just want him to… want me. Ugh, I'm pathetic, I really need to— _Shut up, Ed!_

He's giving me this odd thoughtful look. It makes me a little nervous. "What?" I say, avoiding his eyes. "I was kidding."

"I know. I was just wondering how you'd react if I said that I did."

What. No. Nope. My brain— no, it can't handle that. So naturally, I just blurt out the first thing that comes to my mouth. "Do you?" And then my stupid brain catches up with my mouth and I turn bright red, stuttering out, "Not that I care, I mean, well of course I care but I mean I'm not saying I want— you know, I just— fuck." Gate, I'm hopeless. Someone go dig me a hole because I'm going to kill myself. I don't even know how he can manage to turn me into a brain damaged moron without even trying, but it really ticks me off. Great, now I'm pissed. Oh, this is just _fantastic_, would someone take a crowbar to my head already?

He just gives me this incredulous look. I slink down awkwardly on the couch. Awesome. Even he thinks I'm a complete idiot. Thanks for nothing, brain.

"Maybe we should go to bed." Then he smirks, slanting his eyes at me smugly. "And I mean _separate_ beds, in case you were wondering."

Against all odds, I turn even redder. "I wasn't," I snap. "You're a pervert."

"Excuse me? Who was the one who brought up sex?" That smirk is still playing on his lips and the look he's giving me is nothing short of teasing. It's like he's _trying _to make me uncomfortable. Again, I'm feeling a bit too warm for my comfort and I shift unpleasantly, trying to calm down. He's _not_ trying to do this. He's just naturally this… fucking perfect. I hate my life.

"You brought up babies," I grumble. "This is all on you."

"Whatever, Ed." He rolls his eyes, standing up. "I don't know about you, but I'm actually tired. I'm going to bed. You can stay up and read, if you want."

"No, I'm pretty tired too." I get to my feet, looking hesitantly at my mug. "Where should I… can I bring it to, uh, wherever I'm staying?"

"Just don't make a mess. I don't care." He gestures for me to follow, and so I do. My heart is pounding in my throat. Why am I such a mess? We're going to _sleep_, Edward, god, get your mind out of the gutter you hormonal idiot. I walk behind him as he leads me up the stairs. He eventually stops at a door that is pushed partly open and I automatically stop behind him, my hands wringing nervously around the mug. "Here," he says, "this is the spare room. You can stay here, and the bathroom—"

"Across the hall," I interrupt, grinning a bit. "Got it."

"Right. Well, if you need anything, my room's just down the hall." Then he titters there for a moment, a brief look of hesitation flitting across his face. He goes as if to raise a hand to caress my face or something, but hastily drops it. I give him an odd look.

"What?"

"Nothing, it's just— you, uh…" He grins a bit. "You have some hot chocolate on your mouth."

I automatically flush and bring a hand up to my face. "Is it gone?"

"No, it's— here." He tentatively raises his hand again, and before I can move back, I feel soft fingers brush over the corner of my mouth. My mouth goes dry and I'm positive my face just turned beet red. His hand lingers there a bit longer than necessary, but when he finally lets it fall, I feel like I've just been lit on fire. I swallow hard.

"Thanks." My voice is so pathetically weak, but I can't help it. I really hope he doesn't notice.

For another moment, he just looks down at me, his eyes unreadable. I can hear the blood rushing in my ears, and god, my heart is hammering up in my throat and I couldn't speak if I wanted to. Finally, he nods, breaking eye contact and successfully severing whatever had just been happening, leaving me shocked and my heart pounding. "No problem." He turns abruptly on his heel, and just before his face is out of sight, I can see that he looks just as freaked out as I feel. Clearly I'm not the only one about to start screaming— we both must be losing our minds.

"Good night," I manage to whisper.

He looks back with a faint smile, still looking faintly perturbed. His voice is strangely soft. "Good night, Edward."

I don't move until he's out of sight. Finally, I manage to open the door and walk in, completely in a daze. Once the door is closed, I allow myself to freak out— my face heats up and I nearly start hyperventilating. I lean back on the door and slide to the ground, holding my head in my hands and trying to keep it from exploding from the sheer amount of thoughts whirling through it. I stare blankly at the floor in front of me and struggle to calm down.

_What the hell just happened?_

**xxXXxxXXxx**

**KissMeDeadlyT-T: Mahh, I'm sorry, there will have to be another chapter… eventually… I really gotta grind this story out, it's incredibly difficult to finish for some reason. Hopefully the next update won't take so long! **


	3. Chapter 3

**KissMeDeadlyT-T: YOOOOOO. Sorry for the long wait, again, and no, for everyone who asked, I'm NOT DISCONTINUING THIS EVER I'm just taking a long, **_**long**_** time to write it.**

**I think this chapter is a tad bit shorter than the rest, but hopefully the… content makes up for its lack of length. **

**I **_**am**_** going through a writer's block, again, and I'm finding everything **_**extremely**_** difficult to write, even the drabbles I usually shit out on a daily basis. So, uhh, I don't know if anyone will be able to tell with the quality of this chapter, but just… bear with me. I've had it written for a little while and I've just been tweaking at it, but I decided to stop before I make it worse. **

**Also sorry for any typos— It's late, and I **_**think**_** I nabbed 'em all… but I probably didn't.**

**xxXXxxXXxx**

I finally find it in me to drag myself off of the ground and into the bed on the far side of the room. It's covered in a simple green duvet with four fat pillows at the top, and even though it's nothing special, I sink into it and bury my face in the pillows as if it's five star hotel worthy. I lay there for the longest time, unable to even make out any of my thoughts because they're all such a jumbled mess, until I finally decide to kick off my pants and my coat, tossing them onto the floor without care before falling back onto the bed. This is torture. I shouldn't have said yes; I shouldn't have stayed. Because now, it isn't a nagging pain in my chest— it's a full-blown squeezing pain that makes me want to throw up and cry and scream. I don't want this. I don't want it at all. I can't have him, and it's like every second he's around me, he's _torturing_ me with his mere presence.

My throat tightens around a painful lump and my eyes sting with tears, but for the first time, I make no effort to stop it. Tears of shame and hopelessness and blatant _need_ roll down my cheeks and dampen the pillow, and I take a bite of the cloth to muffle a sob. How _perfect_ is this? I'm crying over some guy I can't have. Some guy who happens to be a lot less of an asshole and a lot more _real_ than I ever imagined. I know I've said this before, but I only really understand the truth of it now; I am completely, irrevocably and wholly, _screwed_.

I don't believe in fate, or that we have some predetermined path, or any of that shit— but for some reason it just seems like the universe is out to get me. He's so out of my reach and I _know_ it, so why can't I stop feeling this way? Even after everything that happened tonight—after all the stupid little _nice_ things he did that made my heart pound, my mouth dry, my hands shake, like he _might_ have an inkling of the same emotion I feel for him— I know there's no way in hell or heaven or life or _whatever_ that he would reciprocate these stupid feelings. Even if he is gay— or, more likely, bisexual, because I can't forget about all of his infamous sexcapades with countless women— why would he feel that way about me? I'm not stupid. I see the age difference. The gap— it's _huge_, and never mind the fact that even _this_, me sleeping in the same house as him, is a risk to his job. _Feelings_ for me could ruin everything he'd ever dreamed about— and as selfish as I am, I could never ask him to throw that away for my sake.

I thought that I'd be able to handle it, simply being by his side as his subordinate, as a friend— but I think that's worse. Because like this, I'll be in his life, watch him find someone, watch him be happy and in love with someone that isn't me. Even though I want him to be happy— I can't bear to see it. I'm selfish and it disgusts me but that's that. This isn't even a stupid crush anymore. I fucking _love_ Roy Mustang, and there's nothing I can do about it.

I release another sob into the pillow and wipe roughly at my eyes. I have to stop feeling sorry for myself. Crying like this isn't going to get me anywhere and it makes my head pound anyway. Using the sheet to rub at my face, I swallow hard to quell the next round of tears, and blink up at the ceiling, forcing it down. I should probably try to sleep; I really am tired, and sitting here crying isn't gonna do anything but make me feel even worse.

I stare out the window and try to clear my head so that I can get some sleep. The sky is dark beyond the light crème blinds; it looks like there's a storm coming, and fast. There's a faint rumble in the distance, and I can see the clouds light up every so often. I watch it until my eyelids feel heavy, until there are raindrops pelting at the window, until my head is clear, until I'm finally starting to drift off.

Then, suddenly, a booming round of thunder cracks through the sky, a plaster of rain attacking the window as wind howls and makes the house groan. It's so abrupt that I jolt up, my heart in my throat, and nearly fall out of the bed. After my heart finally calms down, I exhale slowly, wrapping the top comforter around my shoulders. Well, I probably wasn't going to get much sleep tonight anyway.

Thunder rumbles outside as I push open the door, glancing down the dark hallway just in time for another flash of lightning to brighten the way to the staircase. The harsh light sends gloomy shadows dancing on the pale walls; the sight sends a cold chill down my back, the unfamiliar setting thrown off-balance in the flickering light. It's creepy, but I somehow don't feel unsafe, knowing that Mustang is close. Shaking my head, I hurry down the hall and stairs, minding not to trip over the blanket that trails on the floor behind me, using the flashing lightning as a guide to the living room, where I curl up on the bay window seat and let out another sigh. He did say to make himself at home, so I guess I will.

I don't know how long I sit there, watching the storm outside, seeing trees sway and hearing wind moan and listening to the gutter squeak and sputter and spray water onto the sopping grass below. The clouds roil and churn around forks of glowing white lightning, and in a moment of pensiveness, I think that they remind me of the current state of my emotions. Shutting my eyes, I rest my forehead against the cool window pane, listening to the rain and trying not to think about anything except the sound of the storm because thinking is just too hard to deal with right now.

"Edward?"

The soft voice makes me jump and yelp, and before I can catch myself, I'm on the ground, my left hip throbbing and an involuntary curse flying out of me as I whack my funny bone on the floor. Clutching at the spot where my pounding heart would be, I stare up with wide eyes to see a concerned (and amused) looking Roy staring down at me. His black eyes are hard to read in the dark, but when the lightning flashes and lights him up for a brief moment, I can see it— he's trying not to laugh. My face finds its way into my default _Roy Mustang is near_ scowl.

"What?" I mutter, a bit snarkier than I meant to.

"Why are you up?" he asks, offering me a hand. I stare for a moment, debating on how rude it would be to ignore it, until I finally grab it— with my metal hand— and let him help me up. As quickly as I can without looking suspicious, I withdraw my hand, clutching the comforter tight around my shoulders.

"Can't sleep." I avoid looking at him directly. He's wearing a soft T-shirt and loose PJ pants, and his hair is just a bit messier than it usually is. It makes my heart flutter, seeing him so casual and off-guard. "Well, why are you?"

Roy sort of just looks away and shrugs. "Couldn't sleep either, I suppose."

I study him for another moment— the lightning shows me his face, and I can immediately tell something is off. He's not meeting my eyes and he has this look about him, like he's tired, but not because of lack of sleep. Almost like he's on the verge of hysteria but doing a really good job hiding it. Not good enough, apparently. Narrowing my eyes, I say, "Really."

"Of course," he replies, turning his back to me. "Why else?"

"Well, I don't know," I say, staring at the back of his head. "Don't lie to me, Mustang."

"I'm not lying. I really can't sleep."

"Why not?"

"I'm not tired?"

"Is that a question, or an answer?"

For a moment, he stares at me. Then, he looks away again. "Don't worry about it."

Does he have to be so damn irritating? Losing my already-thin patience, I stomp up to him and grab his wrist before he can walk away. "Hey," I say angrily. "Tell me, damn it."

He turns back, eyes focusing on my hand around his wrist for a moment, until he finally meets my eyes. Even in the dark, I can tell something's really bugging him. I've gotten quite a lot of practice reading past the meticulous Mustang mask, and even though most other people would believe he's really okay, I don't. "I ain't buyin' your stupid tough guy act. What's _wrong_?"

Something in his eyes crumbles, then, and his shoulders slump visibly. "You're stubborn."

"You've known since you met me."

"Yes," he admits reluctantly. "I have."

"Well?"

"It's… the thunder." He averts his eyes again.

"You're scared of thunder?" I ask, cocking an eyebrow.

"Not of the thunder," he says. He takes a deep breath. "It reminds me of explosions… which reminds me of the war."

I should have expected that. Crap, now I feel like a complete jerk. "Oh," I say quietly. "Sorry."

"It's fine." Really, he doesn't sound angry, so I spare a glance up. He's actually smiling at me. My heart does that funny flop it loves to do around him and I feel the corners of my lips twitch, but I resist the urge to smile back because his looks forced and it doesn't quite reach his eyes. I realize then that I'm still holding his wrist, so I hastily step back, another apology on the tip of my tongue. "Don't apologize," he says before I can get it out. "It's fine. Really."

"Um, so…" I hesitate, unsure if this is a good idea or if I'm just about to make an ass of myself. "Do you… need to talk?" My ears burn in embarrassment as soon as I say it. Stupid, stupid, _stupid_. We're not _girls_, we're not supposed to talk about feelings and shit like that, _gate_, I'm _such_ an idiot sometimes. I try to dull the heat of my face by adding, "I mean… sometimes it helps… to talk. Right? I don't— I don't really know if I can completely understand, but I can listen… if you want."

For a moment, he looks surprised. "Wow, Ed."

My face heats up almost unbearably, and I look to the side. I wish he'd go back to calling me Fullmetal— it's easier than to pretend I don't have these stupid feelings for him than it is to do that when he uses my name. "What?"

"I didn't think you actually cared."

"Of course I _care_," I blurt before I can stop myself. His eyebrows raise further, and I attempt to soften the confession by stuttering out, "I— I mean, why wouldn't I? You're a bastard but you're still… a decent person, so…"

"A decent person," he repeats, a wry tone to his voice. "You _do_ know what I did to all those innocent people in Ishbal, don't you?"

A bit uncomfortable with the way he said it, I sit back on the window ledge. I want to look away, but I feel like that wouldn't be right for this— so I force myself to look him in the eye and say, "Yeah, I know. I spoke to the Lieutenant about it, remember? She told me everything. But I don't think it makes you a bad person, necessarily."

"Really?" he says dryly. "I followed orders to _slaughter_ innocent people, even though I knew they went against all basics of human morality. I tore families apart. I murdered childrens' parents right before their eyes. It wasn't exactly a painless death, either— burning a human body isn't an instantaneous thing. I did it to keep my job, Edward. No one held me at gunpoint and forced me to do it." The thunder cracks again, right above the roof, and I see him flinch. Quietly, he finishes, "If that doesn't make me a monster, I don't know what does."

He looks so haunted— I wonder if that's how I look when I think about what Al and I did all those years ago. My stomach clenches and churns and I bite my lip anxiously for a moment, studying him, until I finally stand up and say, "Sit down."

He cocks his head, like he wasn't sure he heard me right. "Excuse me?"

"Sit," I say again, pushing him back towards the couch. "You look like you could use a drink, yeah?"

"Edward," he protests as I march straight to the kitchen. I hear him stand up and glare back at him.

"Roy," I respond, fighting to keep my voice even. He looks cornered, almost like a kicked puppy, and it makes my heart feel strange, like it's trying to crack into two. "I'm not saying alcohol is a solution, but you need to relax. So," I begin rummaging through his cupboards, until I find a glass bottle of scotch hidden in the back, "humour me."

"You're underage," he reminds me, but he sounds so tired that I don't even bat an eyelash.

"What are you gonna do, report me?" I say wryly. "To yourself?"

He glares. "I'm not drinking with you around."

"One glass, bastard." I pour a bit of the dark alcohol into a glass, which I found in one of the top cupboards. "Don't try to tell me you're fine, because you're not. I've had plenty of practice picking out peoples' emotions, and you're trying your hardest not to break, aren't you?"

"This is a bad idea," he says warily, watching me with cautious eyes as I walk back and sit down next to him. He stares at the glass in my hand, but doesn't take it, choosing instead to lift his gaze to meet mine and say again, "I'm not drinking, not with you here."

"Why?"

"I might do something I'll regret."

A pleasant tingle rushes down my spine. I want badly to ask him what he means, but I bite down my curiosity, and shove the glass towards him again. "You're not gonna get drunk off of one glass," I tell him, even though I know he knows. His stare wavers, and I finally let myself smile a bit. "I know how it feels to have post-traumatic stress disorder, Mustang, and I also know that you need to relax. So go on," I prompt softly, "I'm not going to let you do anything stupid."

"You're too stubborn for your own good," he mutters. He finally takes the glass, hesitating for a moment before he brings it to his lips, watching me with wary eyes as he takes a tiny sip. I try to smile reassuringly, but I'm sure it looks forced— it's hard to keep this up when he's so close. I think the only reason I can resist doing something stupid is because I do genuinely care, and I do want him to relax, because that haunted, somber look on his face makes my stomach roil and my chest feel painfully tight.

"You know," I say after a moment of this weird tension where we just stare at each other, "I don't think you're a monster."

"Then you're an idiot," he says blatantly, tipping the glass back again.

"Call me what you want, but I still don't think you're a bad person." I fidget for a moment— it's hard to open up, but he looks so in pain that I have to _try_. "I can't deny that what you did was horrible. Maybe you were a monster then, but not anymore. War… changes people, right? None of you were the same person you were before, or after. It's in the past, though, and… well, even though that's a part of you, it's what you do _now_ that determines what you are." He mumbles my name, then, but I'm not done. Meeting his eyes again, I choose my words carefully, and slowly say, "You can't take back what you did, and I get that, but… you're compensating, at least a little bit. You're gonna be Fuhrer someday, right?"

"I suppose," he says quietly.

This next part breaks my heart— because I remember what Hawkeye said: How they're going to have themselves punished for the crimes they did during the Rebellion. My throat feels tight, but I manage to get it out. "Then change things. Make it so that something like that never happens again. But…" I swallow past the painful lump in my throat and stare down at my lap before whispering, "I don't want you to put yourself up for execution. That's just what they want, and you aren't going to make things better by killing yourself." My hands curl into fists. "A life doesn't equal a life, Roy. I don't think you're a monster— but if you really think that, then _change it_."

It falls silent between us, and I begin to think that maybe I really did make a fool of myself. Hesitantly, I turn my head to look at him, and I'm shocked to see him staring at the ceiling, his eyes wet. My heart squeezes. "Sorry," I say. "Maybe I shouldn't have said that."

"No, I needed to hear it," he breathes, shoulders relaxing visibly. He places the empty glass on the coffee table before straightening and giving me a long, hard look. I squirm under the scrutiny, my cheeks heating up at the intensity of it. Finally, he smiles softly and says, "You really are a good kid, aren't you?"

The tension is strange— not bad, just weird. To cover up my flush, I scoff and mutter, "Yeah, well, don't get used to it."

He just grins. "I'd never even think of it."

We fall into silence, again, just sitting there next to each other, watching the thunder from the bay window. It's peaceful, with just the sound of water hitting the pane and thunder rumbling above us and wind hitting the side of the house, and I can almost pretend that being in love with him doesn't break my heart.

"We should probably go to sleep," I say after a while.

"You're right," he sighs, getting to his feet. I'm not far behind as we walk back up the stairs. I almost expect him to keep walking straight to his room, but instead, he hesitates again in front of my door. I lick my lips automatically, but I know there's nothing on them— I just can't think of why he'd stop.

"Um, so…" I tighten the blanket around myself. "Are you going to… go to sleep, or…"

He looks, for a moment, like he might turn and leave, but instead, he steps forward and pull me in for a tight hug. My heart jumps up into my throat and pounds there, leaving me speechless and dizzy and absolutely shocked. My face is hot. Too hot. What the _hell_ is going on?

"Colonel," I whisper, my voice barely audible and shaking so hard I wonder if he can understand it. "What—"

"Thank you," he breathes into the crown of my head, tightening his arms around me. My knees start to shake and I feel inexplicably choked up again, so I use the closeness to bury my face in his chest to muffle a choked sob. I should push him away. I should tell him to go to sleep and close the door behind me. But I can't. I can't make myself move. I wonder if he can feel me crying. If the way he pulls me in even closer means anything, I think he can.

"You're crying," he says quietly, like he can read my mind. "Why?"

"It's nothing."

His fingers rest under my chin and he softly tilts my head up, but I refuse to meet his eyes. "Tell me," he orders softly.

This is too much— we're standing so close, I can feel the heat from his body melt into mine. One arm is still around my waist, and it presses me close to him— I can feel his body through the thin shirts and bottoms we wear, and it's making my heart pound so hard I can hear blood rush in my head. The smell of scotch is faint on his otherwise minty breath, so intoxicating that I can hardly stand up and automatically, without even thinking, like it's an old habit, my hands curl into fists in the back of his shirt. I'm not even sure why I'm crying— maybe because this is so close to what I want, but I know I can never have it. I am sure of one thing, though; I really, really want to kiss him. I can almost feel his lips ghosting across my forehead, and I shut my eyes, pressing my lips together tight to push out every sensation except for my brain telling me that I need to step away before I do something I regret. But I can't. My legs won't listen.

Soft fingers brushing my cheek and wiping away the wetness there lulls me into opening my eyes—which I immediately regret. All I can see are his black eyes looking down at me, and his lips, pulled down into a faint frown, but _gate_ they look so soft, and I just… I think I'm drowning. His eyes are so black and full of emotion like they never are and it's all I can do not to let go and fall into them and never come back out.

"Tell me," he says again, still in that gentle way.

"I… no, I can't—"

"You can tell me," he murmurs. His breath tickles my forehead and I shut my eyes again. I can't stop shaking. I can't tell him. I can't, I _can't_, this is so _wrong_—

"Edward," he says softly, brushing my bangs away from my face and tucking them behind my ear, and that's all I can take before I break.

"I love you," I whisper, my voice trembling, and suddenly, there's a huge weight lifted off of my shoulders. My eyes sting and I feel tears rolling down my cheeks again, but I make no effort to hide it this time. "I'm sorry, I know it's wrong, and you can hate me, if you want, but— I can't— I can't _take it_ anymore, I'm so _sorry_, I just— I lo—"

"Stop," he interrupts, and I immediately do, my heart sinking right into my stomach. What was I _thinking_? Why did I tell him? I _knew_ I should have kept my mouth shut, damn it, _I knew it_—

His fingers come up to wipe at my cheeks again, and a wry, sideways smile curves his lips. If I wasn't so confused, I might have lost my control again and kissed him right then and there. "Don't apologize," he reprimands softly. "Not for something like that."

My chest feels tight again. "What are you saying?" Fuck, I sound like someone is squeezing my windpipe. Damn it. This is _not_ happening. He shouldn't be looking at me like that— with the same look in his eyes that I get thinking about him. He shouldn't be tilting my head up again. He shouldn't be leaning closer— and he _really_ shouldn't be kissing me.

_But he is._

Just like that, my breath leaves me, and my knees really do buckle. My hands fly out and grab hold of his arms and I stand there, frozen in shock, as his lips press softly against mine. He doesn't seem to be put off by my slow response, or by the fact that I'm shaking so hard I can hardly stand and my fingers are digging into his arms so hard I'm positive I feel blood. This can't be happening. This whole night has to have been some sort of sick idea my mind came up with to torture me. I wonder if he can hear my heart hammering or feel the flush rising in my cheeks or the way that I can't breathe. His mouth is warm, hot, softer than I could have ever imagined; and I _have_ imagined, but nothing I've ever dreamt up can even begin to compare. As if in amusement, his lips curve up against mine, and he brings a hand up to cup my cheek, tilting my head and flicking his tongue between my lips until I _have_ to open them because I can't hold back anymore.

I've heard about the fireworks and sparks that you're supposed to feel for your first kiss, but that has _nothing_ on this. It's like _fire_. Burning me up from the inside, flames licking at my heart and flickering in my nerves and making my entire body heat up and melt into him like goo. He's gentle, loving even, moving his lips with a tenderness that I never thought he was capable of, and I finally get the courage to press back, sliding my hands up his arms to wrap behind his neck and pull myself closer. A low hum of delight vibrates from his mouth to mine, and his arms tighten around my waist until we're flush together and I can't even think anymore or focus on anything except how _impossible_ this is, but that it's happening, and I can taste the scotch on his tongue and feel every inch of him pressed against me and how my heart is pounding so hard and fast that it's making me dizzy. My knees are shaking. I'm going to crumble to my feet any second now, but I don't care— I don't care about anything except for the fact that Roy Mustang is kissing me, and it isn't a dream.

Just when I begin to feel like I might pass out, he pulls away, pausing a moment to slide his tongue across my bottom lip. I can't quite hold back a moan. I'm sure I look a mess— my cheeks are flushed, my lips are all wet and _god_, let's not get started on my hair— but he doesn't seem to care. He just looks down at me, and I stare back as steadily as I can through my impossibly hot blush, breathing heavily, trying to catch my breath. It pisses me off a bit that he's not nearly as flustered as I am, but I guess that wasn't his first kiss. But it was mine. And I was not disappointed. Just thoroughly stunned.

"So," he says after a moment of silence where I just gawk at him because I can't wrap my head around the fact that he just _kissed me_, "do you…" He falters then, like he lost his nerve. After biting his lip for a moment, he tentatively finishes, "Do you want to sleep with me?"

My whole face gets hot and I stare at him with wide eyes. "What?"

"Oh, damn it— I meant— I didn't mean _that_." He's flushed too, and I can't help but laugh. He glares for a moment, but it softens to a faint smile, and then he's laughing too, pulling me into an embrace that's solid and warm and gentle at the same time. "You're an idiot. I meant did you want to sleep, _sleep_, in my room, instead of alone in here?"

"I— uh, I… okay," I finally get out. After another moment of staring like a moron, I smirk a bit and jab at his side with my elbow. "What?" I say, grinning up at him. "Need me to protect you from the big bad thunder?"

"You know what, screw you. You can sleep outside."

"Nope, the offer is made. You can't kick me out now."

"I'm too tired for this," he says warily.

I grin up at him, my eyes stinging again, but this time it isn't in pain. I'm so giddy I can't wipe the stupid grin off my face, and I'm sure I look like an idiot, but I can't find it in me to care. "Good thing you invited me to bed, isn't it, bastard?"

"Clearly the fact that I just kissed you isn't going to change your attitude towards me."

"I don't know why you'd think it would."

**xxXXxxXXxx**

**KissMeDeadlyT-T: UUuuGGghhHHhhh I was working on the ending to this for so long. I just didn't know what to do with it, so I left it like this. I hope it didn't move too fast and damn, I struggle to write anything like kissing or sexy times so I'm hoping the kiss was alright. I don't get the 'completed' feeling from this chapter, either, so there'll probably be another one to wrap it all up. Eventually. I just had to throw in the good ol' Roy/Ed bicker fests that I enjoy so much. **

**Anyway, sorry for rambling so much (again). Thanks for reading :)**


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